


a breakout and and an invitation in

by celebreultimaverba



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, References to Canon-Typical Violence, References to Torture, Stranger Sex, Trans Male Character, Trans Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, fuck it is vax's life motto and he applies it to percy, prison break - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-07 10:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17958518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebreultimaverba/pseuds/celebreultimaverba
Summary: There's a human in this prison with Vax. He's a handsome fucker, even half-starved and beaten as he is.Vax is gonna see him out of here. Then, maybe he'll see the rest of him.





	a breakout and and an invitation in

**Author's Note:**

> Context for this fic:
> 
> Pre-stream, Vox Machina found Percy in a prison in the Umbra Hills. They were on a quest to retrieve the skull of a nightmare, in order to save Grog from the lich phylactery embedded in his chest.
> 
> This fic imagines that Vax found Percy in the prison, and that the cultists that captured him and the guards that captured Percy for Ripley are part of the same group, and that Vax was the one to break him out.
> 
> And then they fuck. It's not _not_ canon-compliant!

“Watch the _goods,”_ Vax complains, his voice practically a hiss as he’s shoved into the cell. He’s flexible, but not so flexible that his arms can go behind his back _that_ far.

“Shut up,” the one guard replies—perhaps _guard_ is the wrong word for it. They’re thugs. Vax holds no love for most guards, but he fucking _hates_ these ones.

They lock the cell door once they’ve kicked him down into it. Vax doesn’t give them the satisfaction of making a noise, when they do.

It’s not the _best_ cell he’s ever been in, but Vax knows by now how to escape.

Step one: Try to find a lockpick.  
Step two: If step one fails, try and trick a guard.  
Step three: If step two fails, wait for Vex to pay bail.

The issue is, Vax isn’t sure he has a chance of step three. They’re suspecting that the guards at this prison are a part of the cult that’s sacrificing people. It’s very nice that the cult _exists,_ being that they need some demonic horse skull, but it also means that Vax has a ticking clock, and no hope of bail.

Failed step one. The cell is mostly stone, a bit crumbly but solid, no nails in the walls or loose picks or anything useful. Step two is possible, but not right now. There would need to be a guard down here, for that. It’s not as if Vax can pull what he pulled in Stillben—clinging to the ceiling bars when the guard comes in to slip out when their back’s turned—but he might be able to figure something out.

There just needs to be a guard, unlocking the door. Worse comes to it, Vax tries something stupid, and gets himself stabbed.

He settles in, planning.

Bored. But planning.

In cells like this, it’s always impossible to figure out how much time is passing. But Vax thinks it must be a few hours (or a very long stretch of minutes) before there’s any more movement in the prison.

It sounds like a body being dragged. Vax is very familiar with that sound. He doesn’t move from his spot against the side of the cell, but his ears perk a bit as he tries to see his new friend. He’s just hoping that it’s not a member of the SHITS. 

It’s not. Vax thinks he’s an old man, at first, for how white his hair is, but he picks out the telltale features of a young human man. He’s covered in blood, only some of his wounds bandaged and some of the others bleeding lazily. He’s unconscious, or playing at it, and wearing glasses and rags, and Vax thinks, _opportunity._

The guard carrying him is trailed after closely by a woman with thick brown hair drawn back in a bun and a torch in hand, who crouches down next to the cell when the man is thrown and locked in. Vax hears something like “Until tomorrow,” and pretends like he’s asleep. He hears her straighten by the rustle of her clothing, and hears her pause, likely looking at one of the two of them, before she and the guard both walk away.

Vax waits a slow thirty, counted in his head, then snaps his eyes open and goes immediately to the bars of his cell, to get a better look at the man. Whitey is, indeed, a young man, maybe 25 at most, and almost definitely unconscious, his glasses askew with his cheek pressed up against the filthy stone floor. His face is gaunt, he looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in a week.

Vax waits.

Again.

His eyelids are starting to get heavy when Whitey finally starts to stir, and Vax stays silent as he watches the human’s eyes flutter open, sigh quietly, and start to take stock of his body. He seems to have stopped bleeding, but in a prison this stinking, that doesn’t matter. Those wounds will likely get infected, without any healing to clear them up.

“Hey,” he says, watching Whitey startle at his voice, and watching his eyes start to try and find the source of the voice.

“Someone else is down here?” Whitey asks.

“Not your imagination, no. Hi. I’m in the other cell, across from yours. You can’t see in the dark, yeah?”

Whitey shakes his head, then seems to remember the dark. “No. I’m human.”

“Right, yeah. Don’t worry, I’m right here. And I can get us out,” Vax says.

“You can?” Vax wouldn’t need darkvision to detect the doubtfulness in Whitey’s face.

“Sure. It’s what I do for a living. You have anything in your cell, over there? Anything hooked, anything I can use as a pick?”

Whitey doesn’t move. “I can’t see.”

“Feel, then.”

There’s hesitation, but Whitey pushes himself up to his hands and knees, and Vax watches as he starts feeling around the cell floor for anything useful. He pushes himself up to stand on his knees, trying to spot anything useful in Whitey’s cell, since Whitey can’t.

It was a bit of a stretch, though. Whitey looks back towards his voice. He gets it wrong, forgetting exactly which way the bars were and looking a bit more at the wall than at Vax.

“Over here,” Vax says, figuring he may as well help out.

“There’s nothing that I can feel,” Whitey says, sounding a little defeated.

“That’s fine, it was a long shot,” Vax assures him. “With a pick and maybe your glasses, I could’ve gotten us both out pretty quick.”

Whitey is quiet for a second, before, “I could probably get you a hook. Not a pick, but a hook.”

“Can’t be a u-hook. Can you get me something like that?”

“Probably.”

“How?”

Whitey shrugs. “In the morning, she’ll come back. I can get you it then.”

“Works for me,” Vax replies, not exactly sure how to express his condolences that, tomorrow, without either of them able to do anything about it, Vax is gonna sit here, and Whitey’s gonna get dragged off to who-knows-where for who-knows-what, and will probably get more of those nasty wounds.

Luckily, Whitey doesn’t seem to be asking for sympathy. “I’m going to bed,” he tells Vax.

“Sweet dreams, in that case,” Vax replies.

He laughs. It’s the bitterest, most poisonous noise that Vax has ever heard. “Show me a miracle, then,” he retorts.

“Poetic,” Vax says, and they both settle down.

He understands, a few hours later, why the laugh was so bitter and why he talked about miracles. Whitey wakes them both up with screaming. Actually, he’s just screaming. He might still be asleep, because he doesn’t _stop_ until Vax starts screaming, too.

“Stop it! Shut up! Be fucking _quiet,_ or someone will come down, and we don’t fucking want that!”

The screaming quiets, and then it’s just heavy, panicked breathing, and Vax pushes himself up onto an elbow to see the human curled into a fetal position in the corner of his cell. He ignores the way that his chest twists at the pitiful position. Vax’ll have to be put-together, if he wants to stand a chance of getting himself _and_ Whitey out of this alive. So no pity.

Even if it’s kind of hard to ignore the obvious self-soothing that he’s starting to do, murmuring something to himself and stroking shaky hands over his own upper arms.

Gods. Fuck it.

“You okay?” Vax asks. He winces at the question, considering he just heard the man screaming in his sleep, knowing it’s a pretty hard _fuck no._

There’s that poisoned laugh again. Vax thinks he’s gotta be imagining the smoke that he thinks comes out of the man’s mouth. A trick of the shadow. “Do you think so?”

“I’d certainly hope not. We’d _never_ get along,” Vax says, a little too jovial for the pitch darkness.

Whitey snorts. “Go back to sleep.”

“You don’t want me to stay up with you?”

“No. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay, okay,” Vax replies, turning back over to get comfortable again. “Hostile.”

Whitey laughs again. This time, it’s actually a little bit amused. Vax counts it as a win, and closes his eyes, trying to fall back asleep even on the hard stone floor.

He must succeed, because when he wakes, Whitey is gone from the other cell. Must be past morning, then. It’s really fucking Vax up, being underground like this. He’s never gonna spend this long without the sun again.

 _It’s been less than 24 hours,_ a voice in his head tells him. It sounds suspiciously like Vex.

Vax does not respond, because he is not going to start talking to himself when it’s been less than 24 hours.

* * *

There’s the sound of a body being dragged again.

Vax, who has been talking to himself for the past hour and a half, shuts up and listens.

“Very good work today,” the woman says this time, when she crouches down after Whitey’s been locked back up. “You’re making wonderful progress.”

She reaches through the bars to stroke a hand over Whitey’s cheek, and Vax feels his stomach turn a bit. Like she’d felt it, she turns, and cocks her head in the direction of Vax.

“Who’s this?” she asks the guard with her.

“We caught him sniffing around. Nécron Argent thought we could use him for a ritual or two.”

Vax almost scoffs at the title. _Nécron._ With titles like that, the cult’s way too obvious. No panache. No finesse. No _subtlety._ It’s one of the worst demonic cults that Vax has ever had the displeasure of being captured by.

The way the woman looks at him stops him from being amused by that train of thought. She’s looking _through_ him, is the thing, like she wants to pick him apart and then sew the pieces back together just a little bit wrong. And, somehow, seeing the dark stains on the white coat she’s still wearing, Vax doesn’t doubt that she can.

He shivers.

She looks away.

“Well, do whatever you like with him. Leave this one to me,” she tells the guard, gesturing down at Whitey. “Perhaps when I’m done with him, I’ll give him to you all.”

“When you’re done with him, there won’t be anything left to give,” the guard jokes, and laughs, grating.

“Perhaps,” the woman replies, turning to lead the way out of the prison. She doesn’t sound like she’s joking. “He’s almost given me what I need, though. Once he explains his contraption to me, I’ll be able to make one myself.”

The guard asks a question, but they’re drowned out by the squeak of a heavy door as they exit the hallway.

Vax turns his attention to Whitey.

He only has to wait a minute before the human stirs, clearly having been faking his unconsciousness.

Vax doesn’t wait. “Did you get anything I can use?”

Whitey nods, and produces a bent, wicked-looking pair of scissors. His hands are slick with blood, and Vax decides not to think about where he must have hidden it. “Will these work?”

“They’ll work perfectly,” Vax replies. “Toss ‘em over. But be careful—let me tell you whether you’re facing the right way, first.”

Whitey grabs the bars. “I can just throw them straight through, no?”

“I mean— yeah, pretty much. You’re throwing them, like, ten feet. Good luck.”

Whitey hums, and makes the throw. The scissors collide with one of the bars of Vax’s cell, but clatter onto the stone floor inside it. Vax breathes a sigh of relief.

“Did you get them?”

“Yeah.” Vax crawls forward to look the scissors over. They’re, yes, slick with blood, but they’re long, and the end of the blades are curved. Why, Vax can’t fathom, but they’ll work as a pick. And Vax might not even need Whitey’s glasses as a torsion wrench if he can get the two blades apart.

“Will they work?”

“Perfectly. We need a plan. Once we’re out, we’ll have to be quick.”

“Up the stairs, there’s the rest of the cells, and at the end of those is the interrogation room,” Whitey says, like he’s memorized the layout of the prison specifically for this reason. “To the left is the hall that leads to the evidence locker and prisoner belongings, and where the guards tend to stay.”

“So, up the stairs, to the left. Get our shit, take out any guards, run.” It sounds like a good plan, to Vax.

“We should wait until night. Less guards to take out. And hopefully the other prisoners won’t give us away,” Whitey suggests.

“Then you should take a nap. You’re still bleeding,” Vax tells him.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Whitey deadpans.

Vax laughs. For a few seconds too long, probably. But when he looks over at Whitey, the man is smiling, so perhaps it’s not too bad.

“I’ll wake you up in a few hours. Hopefully by breaking into your cell,” Vax promises.

Whitey visibly hesitates. “I shouldn’t trust you,” he tells Vax.

“No one does,” Vax replies.

“That… actually helps.”

“Trust that I’m untrustworthy, then, and try and sleep. I’ll wake you.”

Whitey lies down, back against the cell door. “Don’t touch me, when you’re waking me up,” he says, almost too quiet. It almost twists Vax’s heartstrings again. “Just… talk, or make noise. I’ll wake up.”

“Will do,” Vax says. His second promise to this guy. Shouldn’t be doing it, yet here he fucking is.

* * *

Whitey sleeps. Vax counts, slowly, and slowly unscrews the scissor halves from each other.

He reaches 3,600 seconds in his head four times before he pushes himself up and starts trying to pick the lock. It takes a minute, but the lock clicks open pretty easy, and Vax steps out into the hallway as quietly as he can.

Whitey’s cell is a little harder, but it still yields to Vax’s improvised lockpick, and Vax opens the door quietly as possible, stepping over his sleeping body carefully, so as not to touch him. Instead, he stamps his foot in front of the guy’s face, startling him awake without too much dangerous noise.

Whitey looks up blindly. Vax crouches down. “You’re free,” he tells him. “Let me get the manacles off you, and we can go.”

He offers his hands without fuss, and Vax appreciates that these particular manacles are easier to pick than either of the doors. It still feels like half a forever to pick them, though, with Whitey watching, and the other half of the forever happens when he has to pick the manacles around his ankles, too.

When the chains fall away completely, the human fucking _beams._ Vax marvels at it, for just a second. Humans never know how to school their faces, in dark like this. They just seem to assume no one can see them, because they can’t see. This guy doesn’t seem to be too different. “Door’s open?”

“How do you think I got here? Can you stand?”

Whitey pushes himself up. “I think so. Can you— I’ll need to be guided out. I can’t see.”

He offers his arm. Vax takes it. “Okay. We’re gonna go up the stairs, and we’re gonna be fast, and we’re gonna be quiet.”

Whitey nods. “No sense in waiting. Let’s go.”

* * *

Vax’s lungs are burning, his chest is heaving, and he feels _alive._

_Keep his hand, run, don’t stop, just make sure he’s with you, run, run._

The sounds of the guards faded minutes ago, but Vax knows better. Can’t stop running, not yet, they’re not safe.

It feels so _fucking_ good. His grip on his human is tight—enough to be painful, but Vax can’t leave him so he can’t fall behind like he’s trying to, starting to—and his heart is beating a staccato in his chest.

They should have killed more of the guards, so Vax could enjoy this feeling.

And so he could see that contraption of Whitey’s in action again, gods. It was _hot,_ and it’s still in his other hand, and Vax is too professional to get distracted with crossbows pointed at his fucking back, but. It’s well-documented that Vax gets off on risk.

It’s the feeling he chases every time the SHITS send him in for some adventure or another, this heart-pounding adrenaline rush of _feeling,_ clouds and exhaustion chased away by danger, sense of purpose and life flowing through his veins like his own poisons.

 _“Gods,_ that was good,” he says between breaths, finally dropping Whitey’s hand as they come into a small clearing, and he’s practically dragging the human behind him by now. They lost the guards shortly after they entered the treeline, because Vax knows enough from Vex to navigate through trees. Badly-organized guard-cultists have no such training. They’re probably safe.

Whitey doesn’t respond. His breathing is uneven, and as soon as Vax drops his hand, he goes to his knees, like Vax was the only thing keeping him up. He drops his weapon, and Vax is concerned, for a few seconds, before it becomes obvious that he’s just recovering from the run, sitting down and putting his head in between his knees to breathe.

Vax brings a soothing hand through his hair, and Whitey leans into it as much as a man can while clearly trying not to hack up bile.

“Not used to running?” Vax asks, though his breath, too, is still a bit ragged even as he asks it.

“I think my insides are bleeding,” Whitey replies.

Vax looks the human over with some judgement. “You’re not bleeding any more than you were,” he decides.

“That’s good to know. I’m still going to die.”

“You won’t die,” Vax says, crouching down to get on Whitey’s level. “We did _fantastic!_ Gods, that was the best prison break I’ve ever done.”

Whitey looks up at him, gaze next to murderous. He’s handsome, Vax realizes, now that he has moonlight and more color. “I haven’t eaten in four days.”

“Yeah, but it was fun.” Vax grins. He doesn’t think he’s _stopped_ grinning, actually, since they started running, because the danger is still thrumming through his veins, heart beating an insistent _alive, alive_ with every hard pump of it.

Whitey returns his grin with a small smile. “It was fun,” he confirms.

Vax kisses him.

He knows he shouldn’t. He’s very aware that he shouldn’t. But Whitey’s handsome, and smiling, and Vax’s heart is still beating, and it feels like a thing to do, because he’s an asshole, and _fuck it_ is his life motto, so fuck it, fuck it.

Whitey kisses right back.

Then starts coughing, pulling away to do so. Vax’s face scrunches up, wiping off his face. “Gross,” he complains.

“I can’t _breathe,_ I don’t know why you thought that was a good idea,” Whitey says, when he recovers his breath again.

Vax snickers. “I didn’t, to be fair.”

“Didn’t think, or didn’t think it was a good idea?” The smirk Whitey sends him is knowing and condescending, and Vax almost hates it.

Vax replies with as much loving venom as he can muster. “Both, actually.”

“I could have guessed.”

Vax _definitely_ hates the smirk. “Wanna do it again anyway?”

Whitey laughs, and pulls Vax right the fuck in. Vax goes willingly, slotting his lips against the human’s like he knows he belongs there. He doesn’t. But he gets right up onto Whitey’s lap anyway, and kisses him like he asked, because after an escape like that they both deserve it.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises Whitey, when he pushes up the man’s shirt and sees, for the first time, the full extent of what’s been done to him. Vax worked for the Clasp, he knows his torture. The light knife marks that hurt but don’t harm, the healing welts of an overeager belt, the blooming of bruises that lay bare a terrible, terrible past few days for this poor man.

There’s barely any room for Vax to leave hickies.

“Appreciated,” Whitey replies, voice kinda rough.

“You don’t mind?”

“No. Keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Kiss me again, or I’ll shove you off my lap,” Whitey gripes, and Vax laughs, pressing close again.

His fingers on the human’s skin are light and careful, gentle where it’s obvious that Whitey hasn’t been treated too nice. They’re gentle almost everywhere.

His neck is next to unmarked, though, which makes sense because it’s a sensitive, difficult area to fuck with, so that’s where Vax focuses, sucking a few marks down the column of Whitey’s pale neck, pulling back and feeling secretly pleased with himself when they show up dark and red against his skin. A mark of pleasure, rather than pain.

Whitey’s hands are up Vax’s own shirt, now, and Vax is sure his fingers are missing a few nails. His fingers are calloused and Vax doesn’t really like the feeling of rough skin against his back, but beggars can’t be choosers, so he doesn’t complain, just nips at Whitey’s throat and enjoys the noise he gets out of it.

There’s still adrenaline coursing through him, though, so Vax makes the executive decision against more foreplay and takes a second to grind down on the lap he’s still sitting on.

Whitey grips at Vax’s back (yep, he’s definitely missing a few fingernails) and gasps, and Vax moves, letting his shirt fall without the help of his hands and shuffling back a little bit so he can undo the laces on his trousers.

“You mind?” he asks.

Whitey shakes his head, decisively. “If you don’t mind getting yours off.”

“I’ll have to stand, for that.”

Whitey grips his hips, a little possessive. “Wait a bit, then,” he orders.

Vax shrugs. “Yeah, alright. You are eventually gonna get me off, though. If you want to do this, that’s gonna be a requirement of mine.”

“Yes. Just— you’re—” he makes a sound of frustration. “It’s very fast.”

“We just broke out of prison,” Vax points out. “Fast is kind of the point.”

Whitey looks like he’s struggling to say something, fingers working on Vax’s hips—press in, release, press in, release—to help himself calm. Vax stays still, sensing that this is an Issue. He wasn’t planning on _talking_ this much—if it were up to him, they’d both already be hard and Whitey’d be inside him—but if the human needs to talk, Vax won’t fuck him up any further. “I don’t— a lot has happened,” he explains, a bit stilted. “And I haven’t done this. You’re being… frantic. It scares me.”

Vax chooses to believe that “having done this” means fucking a stranger, rather than sex as an act. He refuses to entertain the notion of this man’s prospective virginity. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Whitey says, again decisively. “Just— be slower. If you’re fast I’ll panic.”

“Okay,” Vax replies. “Slow it is. Tell me to stop if you want.”

Whitey waves him off. “I’ll be fine.”

“Cool. Then you stop if I tell you.”

“Will you tell me?”

Vax grins, and shakes his head. Whitey kisses him.

True to his word, Vax is slow about it. He’s not exactly kind, or gentle, because he’s still feeling like he should be _running,_ but he’s slow. Keyed up, tense, and halfway to vibrating with unused energy, but _slow._

He does keep his hands gentle, when he moves them up Whitey’s shirt again, skating over scars and scabbing to find skin sensitive enough to rub at lightly. He lets out a quiet sigh when Vax brings a thumb over a nipple, so Vax does it again, notes it for later, and moves on.

When he pulls away from Whitey’s lips, he presses a kiss to his jaw and waits for a protest. None comes, thank the gods, so Vax goes back down Whitey’s neck, laying sweeter kisses over the bruises he’d left earlier. 

“I’m not gonna take your shirt off ‘cause we’re still in the middle of the woods,” he explains, but pushes the loose collar of Whitey’s shirt down, anyway, to get to his collarbone. It’s about that line that there starts to be scarring, but Vax is pretty deft at avoiding all that. He’s fucked enough adventurers.

“Good,” Whitey replies, tilting his head back a bit more, leaning into Vax’s lips.

It’s actually a little annoying, means Vax has to crane his neck more, but he’s not going to tell Whitey to lean back for him when he looks so nice trying to press up into Vax’s mouth.

“Prude,” Vax murmurs.

His comedic timing is apparently perfect, because Whitey laughs, short and loud enough for Vax to immediately start listening for anything to notice them, and he asks, “Because I’m not going to get naked on the forest floor?”

“Mhm,” Vax hums, after a few seconds of assuring himself that they haven’t attracted attention. They haven’t. He swings his attention back to Whitey. “You’re a prude.”

“For not wanting— Would _you_ get naked?”

Vax grins, shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I _will_ take my pants off, though.”

Whitey’s fingers press into Vax’s hips again. “You’ll have to get up for that.”

“For a second, yes.”

“Well. Be fast about it,” he orders, taking his hands off Vax’s hips like they’ve burned him.

Vax only stumbles a little, as he reacts, getting to his feet off of Whitey’s lap and unlacing his trousers, struggling to get them off over his boots. His smalls go next, a bit faster, not kicked out of the way because he will not want them to be filthy after this encounter. They still have to find their friends.

He settles down on Whitey’s lap as soon as he can, ground freezing on his knees. Whitey’s hands settle on his hips again, and Vax feels the press-release that he’s gotten used to, again. “Good?” he asks.

Whitey nods. “I’m fine.”

Vax doubts that, but doesn’t say as much. “I meant if you liked what you saw.”

“Sure.” Whitey has a nice smile, Vax thinks, even when he’s being a doubtful asshole. “I can’t _really_ see you in this light.”

“I’m gorgeous.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Rude,” Vax says, and kisses him. It’s the kindest retaliation he has.

Whitey chuckles against his lips and hauls Vax a bit forward on his lap. Vax, surprised by the bit of strength behind the action, yelps a little bit, that turns into a gasp when Whitey moves to bring two fingers between Vax’s legs, brushing almost-accidentally against Vax’s dick in the process. Vax hadn’t realized how wet he’d gotten, almost accidentally, while kissing Whitey. He’s surprised when his fingers come out of the exploratory stroke all slicked, and even more surprised when Whitey goes back for more.

Vax stiffens against him, bringing his hips up a little more and widening his knees a bit to encourage the light touch. It’s a little clumsy, but Whitey gets the general area right, rubbing at Vax’s dick until Vax is pushing his hips into the touch, resting his forehead against the human’s and deciding that quiet changes in breathing are the way to go, to tell Whitey what he’s doing right.

He’s a fast learner, too, figuring out quickly that his thumb can get a better angle and starting to rub circles against Vax, right where he got Vax’s hips to jerk into his hand. Now that Vax is paying attention, it seems stupid to not have realized that kissing Whitey, keyed up as he is, has gotten him soaked, dick hard and sensitive underneath his thumb. He’d just assumed that the slowness would have… calmed him down, maybe? Doesn’t seem to be the case.

Whitey’s fingers, two of them, tease at Vax’s entrance, and when Vax doesn’t bother to say _no,_ he pushes in, the slide easy enough with how wet Vax is. Vax has to force himself to relax again, so he doesn’t lose those fingers inside him because Whitey misinterprets his reactions as negative.

They are _not._ If Whitey’s a virgin, he’s at least read some good instructional romance novels, because his thumb doesn’t stop rubbing, and his fingers curl, and Vax moans, this time, low and quiet. He’s more one for having his dick touched, but there’s a spot that Whitey’s getting at with the pads of his fingers that kind of makes Vax want to melt.

Instead, Vax presses their lips together, and rocks into his hand a bit, before deciding that he has been slow enough, hand on Whitey’s collar moving down to press lightly against the trousers he’s wearing. Like he’d expected, he gets to cop a feel of a dick straining against the fabric, practically begging Vax to take it out and get his hands on it.

Well, Vax can’t deny a gentleman what he asks.

He rubs a palm over it, relishing in the groan Whitey gives him and the ensuing bite to his lip he earns, and, sensing no hesitation, starts to unlace the fabric that’s being so rude to the both of them.

Whitey doesn’t stop him, so with minimal fumbling, Vax gets him out of his trousers, hard and heavy in his hand. Whitey twitches up into Vax’s palm, his skin warm and sensitized, and Vax realizes that he’s not the only one impatient or made frantic by their escape, by the way they’ve been moving this along. The poor man must be hard enough to be _aching_ by now, if he’s feeling anything like Vax is.

So Vax keeps his touch light.

There’s no reason for this. He doesn’t want to make this encounter any longer than it’s already been. But there’s a rush of power in knowing that Whitey’s just as desperate for this as he is, and he hasn’t lost his touch circling his dick just because he’s got his dick out, now. Vax could keep Whitey this hard for _ages._

He won’t.

But he does keep his touch light for a few more minutes, rewarding him with a slow, firm stroke whenever he does something particularly good, like when his fingers stop just curling against that spot inside Vax and instead start _moving,_ little sparks up Vax’s spine every time it’s hit. It keeps Whitey moving, keeps him motivated until finally, _finally,_ the thumb circling his dick and the way his fingers are moving nudging Vax over the cliff he’s been familiar with since he was 17 and inviting himself into the bed of a pretty half-orc who’d decided he was sneaky enough to keep around for a little bit.

He comes with a muffled moan against Whitey’s mouth, the loudest he’s been all night, beyond possibly his panicked whoop of victory when that last arrow missed him and they broke the treeline.

Whitey doesn’t bring his hand back. Vax realizes after a few seconds that he doesn’t realize that Vax came. He moans, quiet and disappointed, when Vax pulls his hand away from his cock, and Vax murmurs, “You can stop. I’m good, you did good.”

Whitey does as he’s told, giving Vax’s dick one last press that gets Vax to gasp with overstimulation, but doesn’t fully pull his fingers out yet. “I didn’t realize,” he says, no embarrassment coloring his voice. In fact, he might even be a little smug, but Vax decides not to comment on it. “You’re quiet.”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re wanted fugitives,” Vax points out. “Me screaming isn’t a good idea.”

“Oh, yeah,” Whitey says, then pauses for a second. “Do we have a plan?”

“Well, I was planning on finishing you off, and then finding the rest of my group.”

“You have a group?” 

“Did I not tell you this?”

“We haven’t talked all that much,” Whitey points out.

Vax _giggles._ Somehow, this traumatized human expressing that he hasn’t talked enough to the man currently sitting with two of his fingers inside of him is the funniest _possible_ thing in the world. Whitey lets Vax bury his face in his shoulder to giggle, only calming down after a few seconds, coming back up to see the human smiling.

“We’ll talk after?” he suggests, wrapping a hand around Whitey’s dick again.

Whitey bites his lip. “You’ve convinced me,” he tells Vax.

“Really twisting your arm here, I know,” Vax jokes, shuffling his knees a little forward so they’re bracketing Whitey’s hips. “Move your fingers.”

Whitey startles, like he’d forgotten where his hand was, and removes the two fingers inside of Vax, wiping his slick on Vax’s bare thigh with a bit of a grimace.

“What?” Vax asks.

“It’s— slippery,” he replies.

Vax snorts. “That’s the point.”

“I _know,”_ Whitey replies, but Vax sees the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. “I’m just not used to it on my fingers.”

“Well, I’ve got a way to get you pretty used to it,” Vax replies, giving Whitey a grin and lowering himself down a bit.

Whitey’s hands on his thighs tighten, and Vax stops from actually guiding his cock inside him. He looks up, a little annoyed, trying to figure out if this is an Issue again.

It seems like it. Whitey looks a little bit guilty for it, but that hasn’t stopped him before, so, he comes out with it. “Do you have any diseases?”

Vax knows why he asks it. He’s still a little offended. “Do I _look_ like I’m diseased?”

“I met you in a prison. And I haven’t _really_ been able to see your face. I don’t have darkvision.”

“I’m offended.”

“I don’t have to be able to see you to be able to tell that much,” Whitey deadpans. “It’s not a ridiculous question.”

“It was a prison run by _cultists._ I was innocent.”

“Is that a no, then?”

Truth be told, Vax isn’t entirely sure. He hasn’t exactly been _careful,_ because he was 17 and liked to fuck around instead of acknowledging his daddy issues. But he’s still offended that he was _asked._ He answers honestly anyway. “Probably not. I don’t have any symptoms, or anything, and I hang out with a cleric. Is that good enough?”

Whitey hesitates for a second, but Vax shifts a little bit, and that seems to be a decision made. “That’s good enough, yes,” he says.

 _“Thank_ you,” Vax says.

“It’s not a ridiculous question! I met you in _jail!”_

“So did I, you don’t see _me_ complaining about it,” Vax gripes. “Do _you_ have anything?”

“Ripley’s instruments were fairly clean. I assume not.”

“Cool,” Vax says, and sits on his dick.

Whitey makes a noise so nice that it’s well worth the dull pain that comes from Vax getting stretched to fullness without taking any time to adjust. He’s wet enough that he doesn’t need to make an actual noise, but he gives himself a half-second to wince.

Whitey’s fingers tighten on Vax’s thighs again, but from the way they slide up to his hips when Vax pushes himself back up, he figures out that Whitey’s not trying to _stop_ him. In fact, he pulls Vax right back down, and Vax is reminded of the reason that people fuck. Namely, because it feels _pretty fucking good._

There’s enough slide to make it pleasurable, and after a few sets of Vax pushing himself up and Whitey pulling him down, they settle into a rhythm good enough to make Vax feel justified in angling his hips a bit more, so Whitey’s cock is sliding right against the spot his fingers found. Not hitting it directly, because Vax doesn’t think Whitey would appreciate not getting to go _all the way inside,_ not after how he’d been made to wait until Vax came, but it’s good nonetheless.

Well, passable.

Vax wraps an arm around Whitey’s neck and gets the other hand to rub at his own dick, and _then_ it’s good.

Whitey gets bold, then, too, letting one hand move from Vax’s hips to comb through his hair, pulling him in for a kiss that Vax is all too happy to oblige him in. He’s really a good kisser, and Vax has never had anything against kissing during this part of sex. Makes it better, he thinks.

Whitey’s no Grog, size-wise, but he feels fucking _nice,_ enough for a stretch that Vax can get used to pretty easy, and a nice feeling of fullness that settles a little lower than Vax’s stomach and has him considering another orgasm. Paired with his own fingers rubbing at his dick, now, and how genuinely pretty good Whitey is to kiss— 

It’s not the best sex Vax has ever had. But it’s fucking _good._

Whitey sets the pace, and decides that he won’t be frantic like Vax apparently was, earlier. Instead, it’s a slow out, tug down, rinse, repeat. After a minute or two, it’s _really_ working for Vax. There’s, like, a bit of waiting for the friction, then the slide in, and a second or two of stretch and fullness before Vax pushes himself right back up.

It helps that with every slide in, he gets a noise out of Whitey, quiet and _gorgeous,_ low and easy and pleased. Vax imagines that this has gotta feel nice, though he’s never been in quite the position Whitey is. Feels nicer, for him, knowing that Whitey is getting just as much out of this. With every pass of Vax’s fingers over his own dick, there’s that slide, a nice _fuck_ that has Vax clenching around the cock seated inside him. 

Which gets even _nicer_ sounds out of Whitey.

Gets some nice sounds out of _him,_ too, because after the escaping and running and and orgasm, Vax’s thighs are burning with the effort of rocking himself down on Whitey’s lap, his lips feel chapped now from all the kissing they’ve been doing, and his dick is oversensitive from the orgasm a few minutes ago. It feels _fantastic._

Vax sucks at Whitey’s bottom lip and circles his hips a bit, smugly earning a moan from the human, who retaliates by tugging at Vax’s hair and digging his remaining fingernails into the skin of his hips.

“You like that?” Vax asks, because he’s a shit.

Whitey nods, so Vax does it again, then again when it gets him a reaction. Vax moves his hand from his dick to tap the hand on his hip. “Use your thumb again, then, cupcake, make yourself useful.”

Whitey’s hand moves almost immediately, and the practically unconscious obedience that comes right after Vax bosses him around gives Vax way too many ideas, mind running wild with possibilities that settle as heat at the base of his spine. He moans out a “good boy,” when Whitey’s fingers start to rub at his dick again, and the human shivers.

Vax presses his lips to his again, and pushes his now-free hand up Whitey’s shirt again, going back to the spots that he’d catalogued earlier. The touch, though light, still gets him reactions, and it’s not long before Vax gets back into a rhythm again, Whitey bucking slightly every time he circles his hips, his own hips twitching with every new swipe of Whitey’s thumb over his dick, the soreness of his thighs and quiet moans from the both of them.

They rock together, desperate kissing and pleasure, and Vax lets himself focus on Whitey, only him, and the way his fingers are forcing Vax right back up to that cliff he’s already gotten him over. It’s still slow but it’s fucking _good,_ until finally, they break.

“I’m gonna—” Whitey warns, and he doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Vax to understand what he means.

“Just— you’re good where you are. Keep going,” Vax instructs. _Fuck it_ has been his motto this whole encounter, and, well, they’re probably fine. Vax will risk a probably, if it means Whitey doesn’t pull out.

The human kind of nods, and Vax is glad that he doesn’t have to explain his stupid decision. _Just come inside me, there’s nothing actually making it safe but as long as we’re doing the stupid thing, let’s just go the whole fucking way._ Not the greatest of arguments.

But it feels fucking good, and Whitey untangles his hand from Vax’s hair and takes his hand off Vax’s dick to still his hips, and bucks up into him, once, twice, before pulling Vax down onto his cock and keeping him there to feel _all_ of how he comes, the rather unmistakable feeling of Vax being filled up more than he’s already been. He gives Vax a _fantastic_ sort of keen, and Vax moves his hand from under his shirt to rub at his dick again.

Whitey starts to push Vax off of him, as he starts to soften, but Vax shakes his head. “I said I’d be getting off,” he argues.

“Then—” Whitey says, shoving Vax’s hand away and gasping right along with him, when the new contact makes Vax gasp and clench around his cock—overstimulated, then.

Vax ignores that, and thank the gods for refractory periods, because it means Whitey isn’t hard again when Vax finally comes, the second time, mouth against Whitey’s neck and hips bucking into his hand.

His thighs are trembling when he finally pulls off of his cock, settling heavily on the human’s thighs, feeling slick and messy and _good_ about it. That doesn’t happen a whole lot, with sex like this.

Vax leans back a bit, smiling, he knows, a little too wide. “I don’t even know your name,” he realizes, out loud.

Whitey regards him, like he’s considering the merits of lying. “It’s— Percy. It’s Percy. Call me Percy.”

Vax laughs. “Oh, that’s much better than what I was calling you in my head.”

“What was that?” Percy asks.

Vax stands and offers him a hand, instead of answering. When Percy takes it, and lets himself be pulled to his feet, Vax kisses him one last time. 

“Let’s go find my sister,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “We’re kind of on a deadline, now that I remember it.”

“What’s the deadline?” Whit— _Percy_ asks, fastening his trousers again. Unfortunately. Vax is sad to see him go.

“Our friend Grog is about to be reborn a lich, if we don’t take out at least a part of that cult those guards were a part of,” Vax tells him. He says it deliberately flippantly. Percy does not bat an eyelash. Vax wonders if this is what love feels like.

“Maybe put on your pants, then, if we’re going to meet your sister,” Percy suggests, dry as ever.

Vax grins at him, gathering up his trousers agreeably. “My name’s Vax, by the way,” he says, conversational. “Stay with me?”

Percy looks up, and looks Vax over. And, despite the fact that Vax is still struggling to step into his pants again, and there’s still slicked wetness sliding down his inner thighs, and his hair could probably stand for a brush, Percy still kind of smiles, and answers, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Maybe it’s the sun rising or maybe it’s the afterglow, but Vax kind of sees a future in that yes.

 _Okay,_ Vax thinks, giving Percy one last, private smile. _Let’s see where this leads._


End file.
